Revenge and Consequences
by Byrdde
Summary: The Doctor has a plan to punish Tom for his inattention to his duties in sickbay. But what will Tom do in retaliation when he’s forced to perform the most dreaded duty on board?


Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, or the crew of the Voyager (if you didn't know that already, I know of some lovely real-estate called the Brooklyn Bridge I might be able to interest you in). As for the other…thing, I wash my hands of it completely. I have nothing to do with it, it was the invention of far sicker minds than mine and is the sole property of those minds, along with billions of dollars worth of OTHER characters and merchandise. Yes, well then. Enjoy – or not.

=/\=

The Doctor droned on. At some point, Tom had lost track of the monologue. Something about highly infectious diseases and the seriousness of his duties in the sickbay. The usual, he supposed.

"Lieutenant Paris!" barked the Doctor. Tom jumped guiltily. Usually he could get away with blankly staring and nodding whilst completely ignoring the EMH's long winded sermons, but he hadn't really gotten as much sleep as he should have last night and his entire face was misted over as he leaned on the bio-bed. "Have you heard a _word_ I said?"

"Sure, Doc," Tom said cheerfully. "You want me early tomorrow and I should take everything more seriously."

The Doctor looked at him suspiciously. "Lucky guess," he mumbled. _Not really,_ thought Tom _I don't think it's been anything else in months._

"Well," said Tom, pushing himself fully onto his feet. "That's my shift done, Doc. See you tomorrow, bright and early." He bounded off through the sickbay doors, incidentally leaving several reports unwritten. 

The Doctor grumbled as he sifted through all the work Paris had, as usual, managed to avoid. A notice alarm went off and he checked the screen in front of him, a slow grin spreading across his features. Well, Paris had done everything to deserve it, after all, why not give it to him?

~*~

Tom bounced into sickbay for his next shift, bright eyed and ready for a couple hours of Doctor-ignoring. As he jaunted through the doors, the Doctor looked up, an odd expression on his face. 

"Ah, Lieutenant Paris, just the man I was waiting for!"

"Really?" asked Tom, surprised.

"Ah, yes," crooned the Doctor. "I've got a little surprise for you. I've decided to let you fly solo today."

"Uh, Doc, I've handled sickbay by myself before, remember?" asked Tom, wondering if holograms underwent midlife crises.

"Oh, but this is a _special_ assignment," the Doctor crowed, motioning to a bag sitting on the bio-bed. "You'll be needing that, and here are the details," he added, tossing Tom a padd. 

Frowning, Tom quickly scanned the information. The color drained from his face.

"Doc, you can't be serious!" he said, looking imploringly at the Doctor. "This is impossible!"

"Now, now, Lieutenant," soothed the Doctor. "Nothing is impossible. Hurry along, this has to be done before the end of the day."

"Right, sure." A little unsteady on his feet, Tom left sickbay.

~*~

Somewhere behind the door, a chime sounded.

"Come."

The door opened.

"Tom, what's wrong?" asked a concerned Captain Janeway, looking up from her desk. 

__

Gee, I must look awful, thought Tom. _She was worried enough to set down her coffee._ He stared at the silver mug for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"Morning, Captain," he managed to get out, feeling strangled. "The Doc sent me to – to…" he swallowed, "to give you your checkup." He waved the medical bag, holding it like a shield in front of himself.

An odd expression came over the Captain and she began to shuffle through padds, trying to appear extremely busy. 

Wishing a fond farewell to life as he knew it, Tom Paris stepped into the Captain's ready room.

Several hours later, a very pale, very tired Tom Paris emerged from the Captain's ready room, his mission accomplished. 

He looked blankly around the bridge. It was nearly deserted, only a night watch. He took a deep breath, savoring the free air. And stared blankly around the bridge.

Hours of trying to get the Captain's checkup done had left him slightly brain-dead. He looked down at the bag still clutched in his hand.

__

I think I need to find Harry. He started for the door, tripped over his own feet and caught himself on the wall. _I think I need to sleep, then I need to find Harry._ Waving to a worried looking ensign, he hauled himself off the bridge and to his quarters.

~*~

"We could get in a lot of trouble for this," said Harry, fidgeting with something on the console.

Tom shrugged. "I doubt it. The Captain's not too happy with the Doc right now, either. If we're ever gonna get away with this, it's gonna be now." He ran a hand through his hair. It was amazing what a nap, sonic shower, and a few Doctor-free hours could do for one's outlook.

"Well, I hope you're right," sighed Harry. "Because it's done now."

"Good," Tom grinned evilly, an expression he'd been practicing since adolescence. "Let the games begin."

~*~

Ensign Terry Paulor hated sickbay. She had always hated hospitals and doctors, they'd always seemed too sterile and, above all else, inhuman. She'd been forced to come in anyhow by a fractured wrist. Now she sat, trembling in something between fear and loathing, on the bio-bed watching the thing fill a hypo-spray.

It reached for her.

She hadn't had a good week. She'd been fighting with Ron, been late to duty three times, had fell out of a Jeffrey's Tube, and now _this_. It was too much. She screamed. And jumped off the bio-bed.

"Keep away from me!" she shrieked, holding her good arm out in front of herself. "Just stay away, you hear?" She backed to the door, turning and fleeing as soon as it slid open.

The Doctor stared after her in disbelief.

~*~

Tom stood in front of the Captain's desk, hands behind his back, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. She looked up.

"I've been receiving some odd reports from sickbay since this morning," she said. "From both the Doctor and from several rather delirious patients."

"Really?" asked Tom, trying to feign surprise and concern. "Do you want me to go down there? I'm not on duty today."

"Yes," said the Captain. "I realize that." She pulled a padd out of the massive pile that was her desk. "Very interesting reports. Giant creature, terrifying…Ensign Terribou says, and I quote, 'It was awful, like my worst nightmare mixed with a holodeck horror program.'" The Captain looked up at Tom. "Now, I realize that the Doctor's bedside manner leaves something to be desired, but don't you think that's a little extreme?"

"Well," said Tom. "On his bad days…"

"I've been to sickbay."

"Oh." Tom grimaced.

~*~

Tom hadn't been to sickbay since his last, fateful shift. It had been hard, he had wanted to go terribly, but returning to the scene of the crime was usually a bad idea. He was going now, flanked by the Captain and Chakotay, with poor Harry in tow. The doors swished aside.

There, seated behind the Doctor's desk, was a giant, orange, rubbery monstrosity. Tom nearly burst his uniform not laughing. The thing looked up, grotesque ears flopping and hideously long snout pointing at the officers.

"Thanksa goodness!" it exclaimed in slaughtered English. "Mesa was beginning to worry! Yousa wouldn't believe the thingses peoples-a've been a-doin' today!"

"Um, yes," said the Captain, only able to control herself because of her previous peek. Chakotay looked ready to combust he was trying so hard not to laugh. Harry flinched, a look of horror in his eyes.

Tom had told him to make it awful, hideous, deformed. He'd searched the databases and come up with _this_ – this twisted, slouching thing.

"What'sa wrong withsa alls of yousa?" demanded the creature, rising.

"Doctor," the Captain tripped over the word. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Or listened to yourself talk?" asked Chakotay, smothering another fit of laughter.

"What'sa is yousa meanings?" asked the deformed thing.

"I caution you strongly," said the Captain, momentarily blocking the thing's access to a reflective surface. "Those responsible will be punished – suitably," she added the last, remembering the checkup. No reason to be _too_ hard on Paris and Kim.

"Yesa, yesa," insisted the thing. "Nows yousa musta be a-lettin' mesa by!" If it had been smaller, it might have ducked under the Captain's arm. As it was, the thing thrust it out of the way – the Captain flinched as the thing's twisted, rubbery flesh made contact with her clean uniform – and dashed to the mirror.

It stared at its own reflection. It lowered its head to better see the flapping, repulsive ears. It held up an arm, rubbery flesh hanging off it in a sick parody of fins. It stuck out its hideously long, disgustingly prehensiled tongue. It stared at its own reflection.

Then it howled. And it howled.

~*~

Every crewman who had ever suffered from the Doctor's attentions wanted to buy them drinks. Every one of them wanted to shout congratulations, clap them on their backs. Every crewman who had ever been forced to listen to the Doctor's rendition of some archaic opera while lying, in intense pain, on the bio-bed wanted to pin medals on them and give them their own holiday. They, however, were not there to receive all these splendid honors. They were being punished.

Tom and Harry were locked on the holodeck, in a rendition of a late twentieth century movie theater, watching the movies that they had pulled their creature from. Over and over and over…

Tom groaned as the thing leapt into slimy water, Harry was sick from watching it snatch food with its tongue, both were wretched from the sheer _stupidity_ of the thing. And the opening credits rolled.

Over and over and over…


End file.
